


Here and gone

by bearsquares



Series: what happens at the amiibo gazebo stays at the amiibo gazebo [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkward Boners, F/M, Post-Time Skip, Short One Shot, Swordfighting, Unresolved Sexual Tension, stupid sexy byleth, we spar with relic weapons like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 18:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearsquares/pseuds/bearsquares
Summary: Byleth takes her chest armor off for a duel. Is it a test? Is she finally going to initiate something he cannot? Is she just tired of wearing the damn thing? Felix puts up a lackluster fight while he ponders these questions.





	Here and gone

**Author's Note:**

> One of many bad ideas stemming from a joke about people going down to the amiibo gazebo after dark to get fingerblasted.
> 
> He doesn't get that far, bless him.

Felix would drop everything he was doing to train with the professor and that was no exaggeration. She could barge into his room at 4 in the morning, demanding he face her in combat, and he would. If they were in the middle of tactical planning, surrounded by his old classmates, it would only take one look from her for him to draw his sword. She would never do something so absurd, but he had firmly decided _ yes _. Such was his desire to surpass her — whatever it took, anytime, anywhere.

This night was no different.

Mostly.

The invitation to spar at the courtyard gazebo struck him as odd. They had fallen into many impromptus bouts in strange places before, such as the stables and Seteth's neglected office, but that stupid gazebo was for couples and trysts and, goddess help him, _ tea parties _. He accepted anyway, knowing it wouldn't be any different save a few unusual obstacles — hell, maybe he could get away with cutting the ugly thing down. Was it possible to slice through marble with a steel blade? 

These gripes and musings stewed in his head while he waited, a welcome distraction from the way the grass and hedges glowed under the moon. Verdant and otherworldly. 

Distractions.

"Why, Felix. You’re early."

He secretly loved hearing his name in her voice. It reminded him of her rare compliments he always had trouble brushing off; praise in her sober tone; breathless thanks for their rigorous sparring sessions. He didn't hear those as often now, but it was still hard not to think of her as his teacher — and even harder to get over his pathetic schoolboy crush. Countless enemies he had cut down, countless more fled at the sight of him, yet he struggled to hide his flushed cheeks when she did something weird like present him with a daffodil or ask him to cook with her.

He crossed his arms, smirking. "_ You're _ late. Lucky for you I didn't—" His stubborn coolness dropped off into dumbfounded silence when he got a better look at her. The professor was well-endowed and everyone knew it, but she was also a mercenary; flaunting such things simply wasn't practical. The flimsy excuse for a top she wore now made her skin-tight hot pants and lacy tights seem modest. Sure, a few of his old classmates didn’t leave much to the imagination but they didn't wear plated armor over their chests every day. Every single day since he had met them. Now he could see his professor’s cleavage. "Uh…"

She tilted her head in question; he couldn't help following the delicate line of her neck down to her chest.

More distractions.

"You're ready, I hope?"

"Hmph. Ridiculous question."

Fighting was more important than her curves and bare skin, scarred to hell like his yet somehow lovely still. It reminded him that she was the Ashen Demon before his professor: a legend among mercenaries who wound up in a classroom suffering everyone's childish nonsense — his most of all. 

Felix thought he was hot shit back then, lashing out at every perceived threat to his values and priorities, respect be damned. Garreg Mach felt too safe, too contained, nothing like the life he wanted for himself. He couldn’t even take solace in the carefree “school days” environment because he didn’t want to be there to begin with, caged in a sense 

At first, she was no different; just another authority figure telling him what to do and getting in his way. Then he watched her, challenged her, lost hard, and became, according to Ingrid, “taken with her”. Whatever the hell that meant. Still, being who _ he _ was, he talked back, rolled his eyes, moaned about throwing himself off the Goddess Tower if lectures got any duller. Looking back on it, Felix supposed the only reason she didn't throw him off herself was their shared affinity for swordplay.

The impossible heat radiating from her relic sword grazed his ear, shocking him out of his stupor.

Perhaps it was this hazy moonlit setting keeping him from clearing his head. More than likely, it was her breasts nearly bouncing out of her top each time she dodged his blade. She had seen him cut a man clean in half, did she honestly believe this distraction tactic was worth it? He couldn't fathom why she would expose herself this way, to him of all people. The professor knew seduction and innuendo didn't land with Felix; he didn’t want to die because of something that stupid — only a slavering idiot like Sylvain would let an attractive body kill him. And he had, almost. On multiple occasions.

Her sword whipped back across his cheek, drawing blood this time.

"Watch your footing."

So said the woman back from the dead, no different from when he was seventeen. Here and gone, just like the way she fought. Even her death had been a vanishing act, a trick with no finality. 

But she never had trouble getting under his skin, making him suffer for the advantage. To put it nicely, the professor fought dirty. That wasn't quite what came out of his mouth the first time they sparred and she sent him flying over her shoulder. He spat a few expletives her way, the brat he was, but she only stood over him, watching him with murky blue-green eyes devoid of emotion. Emotion wasn’t necessary when that look spoke volumes: had they been on the battlefield, he would be dead. It was unnerving but Felix only thought of her in terms of strength. She bested him and he was suddenly starving for techniques and skills he never knew existed. It excited him — _ she _ excited him. Had it not been for the pain blazing up his spine, his body might have betrayed him in some other horrible way. 

What forbidden thoughts he had back then, things that crept into his mind whenever he wasn't immersed in training, and he would take every last one to his grave.

A grave was where he would end up if he didn’t get his act together. 

The Sword of the Creator was rough and unwieldy, grotesque in a way, but she made it move like a silk ribbon, so quiet he almost didn’t notice it cut through his sleeve.

Dead by his professor’s hand, not on bloody soil amid the dead and dying but in a quaint gazebo. 

It was the setting for sure. He couldn’t picture fighting anywhere this ornate and cute so his heart wasn’t in the fight. The moment, the weight of his sword, the movements of his opponent — _ that _ was her reason for asking him to this strange meeting place. 

Still finding provocative ways to challenge him, to improve him. 

And Felix had improved in her time away, ever the diligent student when it pleased him. Training with a relic sword and someone capable of wielding it set a new standard for him, well above any man or beast he had faced thus far. (Save the elusive Death Knight.) He lost his sparring partner but continued to fight as if she was still waiting for him to best her in combat. Maybe he knew. 

Mushiness aside, having the professor back meant he could test the hypotheses and techniques he came up with in her absence. For example, a plain steel sword was the perfect thickness to wedge between the rocky segments of her relic weapon. 

Correct; a surprised yelp escaped her when he twisted his blade and sent it flying sideways out of her small grip. Without hesitation, she made a wild-looking grab for her sword, attempting to catch it before it hit the ground. 

Wide-open, he thought. Perfect.

But it wasn't. 

With waning confidence, Felix thrust into dead air. Here and gone. He should have known she wouldn't make such an amateur mistake, damn him.

The second or third time they fought, he learned the hard way that a sword was not always enough. She left the sheath on her dagger that day but he got the message.

This time she would go for the throat. From her angle just outside his periphery, one even slice under his jaw, ear to ear, would do the job. It was only logical. 

He caught her by the wrist, guiding the gleaming point of her dagger away from his neck and back behind her shoulder. She slipped easily out of the hold and took another stab, this time at his kidneys. If she had been trying to kill him, she would have succeeded. However, if he was about to die, he would prefer to take his enemy with him, especially this one.

Both froze, their live blades centimeters from plunging into the other's back. 

Felix thought about laughing and commenting on their weird similarities but something about this moment held his tongue. This was all wrong. Whenever they ended in a stalemate, she always moved away first. _ Nicely done_, she would say, and sheath her weapon. Now they were inches apart, she was basically topless, and his nerves were going wild. He wanted to slip out of this crushing closeness but stood his ground; if he showed weakness now, he may as well never challenge her again.

Among these frantic thoughts, some deep, smothered part of him wished she would close the slight distance between them.

As he often said, they were cut from the same cloth.

Felix let her pin him back against a column, wishing he hadn't shown up wearing every layer of clothing he owned. Her breasts pushed against his chest, heavy and soft, still rising and falling with each stinging lungful of air. Their noses were almost touching and there was a light burning smell about her — steel on whetstone if he wasn't mistaken. Perhaps she sharpened her dagger just for him. That scent, that thought, triggered a swell of arousal deep in his gut and his rational mind switched off. He bridged his hips forward to meet hers, ashamed, unsurprised he was half-hard. Her eyes, clear and bright, locked on his as she leaned into him harder, sliding one leg between his thighs. He was wrong before — this must be her reason and he couldn't help wondering how far she planned to take it. He bit down on a pathetic gasp, struggling not to give in and grind against her hip. 

The only thing keeping Felix grounded through this was the weight of his short sword in his gloved hand reassuring him that he still had some control of his body. He still had control but not for long. Blood surged hot and angry in his veins and the friction between them threatened the last of his precious composure.

He thought then that his next words, if he didn't keep his voice steady, would kill him before her dagger. 

"Are you testing my concentration or my restraint?"

She gave him a cold smile, one most would find insincere, but it was her way of being coy. "You passed."

Before he could react, she sheathed her weapon and strode off toward the gate, leaving him painfully aware of the space she left behind. He had never been touched in such a manner. He definitely never thought he would miss it. 

But miss it he would, night after night.

The urge to chase grabbed at him but he had every bit of the iron self-control she recognized. He would bide his time, thankful at least for the rare opportunity to freely admire the flex of her thighs as she bent to retrieve her sword from the grass, and the gentle sway of her hips before she disappeared through the gate. He passed, after all. This, for now, was reward enough.


End file.
